


Thou Makest a Cunning Linguist

by Tawryn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Breathplay if you squint?, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Overuse of italics most likely, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Loki, Rough Sex, Ye Olde Dirty Talk, is there a support group I can join?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tawryn/pseuds/Tawryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy tries out some <i>unusual</i> dirty talk with Loki.</p>
<p>(aka the porn you didn't know you needed in your life)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Makest a Cunning Linguist

**Author's Note:**

> In the middle of working on some epic Clint/Coulson, I stumbled upon [this gem](http://www.reddit.com/r/sex/comments/phumn/my_bf_keeps_asking_me_to_talk_dirty_to_him_in/c3pkp33) and well… this is the result.
> 
> Probably the most ridiculous fun I’ve ever had writing something.

 

“Hey, you ever talk dirty with Thor?” Darcy asks, raising her eyebrows and peering at Jane over her ridiculously large latte. As expected, Jane turns a very gratifying shade of red. Darcy is waiting for the day that her boss-slash-friend-slash-cohort-in-alien-loving can take her inappropriateness in stride, but she gleefully expects it will never come.

“Sort of?” she says.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “How do you ‘sort of’ talk dirty to someone?”

“I mean, we do, but it’s…” Jane trails off, searching for the words. Darcy finds it funny that she can go on and on about things like the second law of thermodynamics or relativistic time dilation—not that Darcy understands it, but she’s gotten damn good at nodding and pretending like she does— but bring up bedroom talk and Jane's like a fish out of water. “Oh! I know. It’s like… bodice-ripper stuff.”

“ _Really_ ,” says Darcy, grin splitting her face. “Like, _these cups runneth over sire, might thou be of assistance?_ ”

Jane coughs and tells her coffee cup, “Something like that.”

How interesting.

.

Loki appears in her bedroom the next night, unannounced of course. He’s forever coming and going at his pleasure. Not that Darcy minds in the slightest, as it always leads to _her_ coming with pleasure, but still. The conversation with Jane is niggling at the forefront of her mind, so once they get into the boom boom nasty, well hell, Darcy decides to just go for it.

“Great Odin’s beard, thou feelest so good inside me!” Darcy shouts. Which okay, maybe she should’ve tested the waters a little first, but ‘wavering conviction’ is not in Darcy Lewis’s phrasebook.

Loki stops, aborted thrust and all. His face is, well, nothing short of _incredulous_ and combined with way he’s just sort of frozen, holding Darcy’s left leg up by his ear… it takes a seriously herculean effort to not dissolve into laughter.

“You did not just utter my father’s name during coupling.”

_Shit_ , Darcy thinks. And because she’s good at rolling with the punches, _No, I can spin this._

“Yeah, imagine what he would thinketh,” she says, avoiding that whole ‘thought he wasn’t your father’ thing because she’s certain it would be a _pow, fatality!_  to the mood she’s trying to construct. Loki groans when she catches his finger with her mouth, circling it with her tongue before giving it a playful nip. She’s gonna take that as a good sign. “Thee mounting a Midgardian like a common beast. Doth thou enjoy lowering thineself so?”

Loki smirks, and goddamn does she love the way his whole face goes dark. “I enjoy lowering myself onto thee, wench.”

He grabs her face roughly with one of his long-fingered hands and kisses her hot and hard. When he moves to bite at her neck, a small, needy sound erupts from the back of her throat.

Loki pulls back to look at her hungrily. Then he leans over and Jesus, he _growls_ into her ear. “This is what thou desirest, _válaðr fljóð?_ ”

_Fuck, was this a great idea,_ Darcy thinks.

“Yes,” she gasps.

“Of course, this is what thou wantest. Thy carnal trap cravest subjugation. Thou art nothing but a whore.” He drives into her and it punches the breath from her lungs. “Thou hast no better purpose but to serve me.”

 “Yes,” she says. “ _Yes_ , Loki.”

She shivers as he rakes his nails along the nape of her neck. Darcy sucks in a breath, anticipating his intent, just before Loki tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls hard, forcing her head back. “Tell me that thou art nothing but mine whore.”

“I’m nothing but thine whore, Loki.” Her voice is wrecked, low and breathy. Each touch spears her, driving a wave of lust through her like a knife. “Useth me for thy pleasure, sire.”

Loki’s eyes narrow and his grin is far past what Darcy would call mischievous. He pulls out and Darcy bites back a whimper.

“Puttest it back,” she says, not breaking character. She’s enjoying their little production of _Shakespeare in the Bed_. “I need it.”

“Be silent.” Loki’s voice is smooth and hard, his ‘argue with me and you will not take pleasure in the consequence’ tone. Gripping the base of his cock, he circles the tip around her clit, reducing her to gasps and breathy moans.

 “Please.” Darcy is squirming. It’s too much and it’s not enough, but Loki’s hand is an iron grip against her hip holding her in place. “Please, sire.”

“Please what, wench?” he asks. “Useth thy words.”

“Please _fuck me_ ,” Darcy groans. “I need thy cock. Wilt thou fuckest my cunt until I come?”

He laughs into her ear, low and dark. “So vulgar, little one. I’ll give thee what thou needest.”

Loki slides back into her, and fuck, each glorious thrust only fuels her aching need. His hands slip under her back, lifting her up, and he hits that perfect spot inside her that has her crying out loudly—fuck the neighbors, they hate her anyway. She digs her nails into Loki’s shoulders and lifts up to meet his mouth with her own. It’s a fierce kiss, a duel of teeth and tongues, and neither of them is gentle. She pulls back, gasping, and looks into his eyes.

“Cannest thou do no better?”

Loki always does so well with challenges.

He flips Darcy over onto her knees and pins her hands at the small of her back. “Thou wilt regret asking me that.”

She smirks into the sheets. “Doubtful.”

His hips slam into her hard, and it’s just this side of painful. But it hurts so good, she loves it, fuck she loves it so much. Loki drags his teeth along the side of her neck, biting and soothing the sting away with his tongue. Darcy groans and Loki replaces his mouth with his hand. He squeezes, not enough to keep her from breathing, but enough to remind her that he could if he wanted to.

“Who doth thou belong to?”

“To thee,” she rasps. “I belong to thee, Loki.”

He slides a hand under her, dragging his fingers against her clit. “And this?”

“Yours! It’s all yours, Loki,” she slips up, medieval dirty talk be damned. Darcy can’t think anymore, her mind has narrowed into pure sensation and her body is trembling like it’s going to shake apart. “Everything, anything I have.”

“You’d do well to remember that,” he says. “Now don’t come until I say.”

He sets a punishing pace, not removing his fingers from where they rub against her. Loki is hard and heavy behind her, enveloping her, compressing her lungs until she can’t take a deep breath for anything. It’s delicious and dominating; her head is swimming and Darcy feels like she’s being torn in two.

“Please,” she whimpers, like it’s the only word she knows. Her orgasm is ratcheting up inside her and she needs it, she needs to be unmade. “Please, please, please.”

He lets go of her wrists and leans over to hiss, “Touch yourself,” into her ear.

Darcy does, gasping as she works her fingers underneath their bodies. When she comes, it’s with a shout. Her orgasm punches through her hard, consuming her, vibrating through her so intensely that she tastes metal in her mouth before realizing she’s bitten her lip bloody. Loki fucks her through it ruthlessly, squeezing her hips—hell yeah, she’s gonna have an awesome set of bruises tomorrow— before he comes with a low groan, panting hotly against the back of her neck.

They stay like that for a moment, breathing heavily, before Loki pulls out and rolls them over. He pulls Darcy half across his chest and she hums in contentment, putting her ear against skin to listen to his heartbeat slow. She twines their legs together and basks in feeling totally, and wonderfully, fucked-out.

Loki takes her wrists in his slender hands and gently rubs away the ache.

“Tell me,” he says. “What brought that on?”

Darcy is nine-hundred percent certain that, _"I swap sex tips with your brother’s girlfriend"_  is a confession that would not win her any points at present. Or ever.

“Just wanted to try something different,” she says instead, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Thou makest a cunning linguist.”

Loki chuckles, the soft rumbling in his chest giving her an inexplicably warm feeling inside her own.

“Little minx,” he says, dropping a kiss to her temple. “They don’t call me _silvertongue_ for nothing.”

She laughs. “I can think of another reason for that nickname.”

Loki smirks lazily at her, his eyes full of promise.

“Later.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Old English is not my first language, so excuse the many liberties I’m sure I've taken. Old Norse is also not my first language (haha) but here’s the translation from what I hope is a reputable source:
> 
> _fljóð_ – woman  
>  _válaðr_ – wretched, needy


End file.
